


The Mouths of Babes

by sasha_b



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carl comforts his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mouths of Babes

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers up through _Pretty Much Dead Already_.

He swears he can feel the heat baking through the soles of his shoes.

Carl's wearing his hat; it's shoved on to the back of the boy's head, and Rick wonders for about a minute what Carl's thinking. Does he remember school? His friends? His stupid pet hamster that kept escaping the cage, and then Lori would screech until they'd both exhausted themselves looking for it.

He smiles, a stretch of thin lips, sweat tickling the fine hair at his temples.

"Dad," Carl says without turning, which makes Rick jump and swear (in his head; he's careful around Carl) before approaching where his son is sitting on the steps that lead to the yard.

"Carl," Rick rasps, then clears his throat as he sits. He's dry, he's been dry since the barn, and he can't seem to make it any better with water or juice or anything -

"It's okay, dad."

Carl's looking up at him, blue eyes almost a mockery of Rick's own, dead serious and caring and full of the depth of emotion his child still holds. Rick rolls his lips inward and raises a hand, resting it on Carl's small back, the bones under his fingers strong but small, a boy still. A boy in a world for those who can survive by forgetting they ever _were_ boys.

"What is, son?"

"What you did. With Sophia. You did the right thing."

The corner of Rick's left eye twitches, and he narrows his gaze. "It wasn't an easy decision, Carl. But I couldn't let her suffer." He wets his lips with a thick tongue and opens his mouth to say something more profound. He can hear horses and the leaves blowing and can see a tiny whirlwind in the yard, nature's trash and bits of detritus spinning like a dirty top. He wonders if Carl will realize what he just said is a lie. From the moment Rick saw the girl in her tattered blue shirt and pants, her neck torn up and her eyes...it was the easiest decision he'd ever made.

"I would have done the same thing."

Rick's hand tightens on Carl's back, almost too tight and he releases it when Carl winces. "I would have, dad. And...and Shane. He was right to do what he did, too." The words spill from Carl, unbidden, but nonetheless. He's like one of those fountain sodas that Rick would drink all day as a kid, one after another after another, until he got sick from all the sugar.

"It was the right thing, they were right next to us, next to our camp, and there's people here, and animals and we have it safe here, dad, and it wasn't right not to tell us. It wasn't safe, it made this pretty place not safe, and Shane did the right thing." He's breathing hard and Rick bites back a retort when he sees the shining in Carl's eyes. He swallows heavily, and leans forward, turning sideways so he can see Carl better.

"Shane...Shane's my friend, Carl. But he needs to think things through first. He's too quick to act, and yeah, it was the right thing, but he could have done something gentler, easier, could have waited for me to take care of it. Sometimes things have to be handled with a soft touch." Which Shane wouldn't know how to handle if it came and bit him in the ass. There is nothing soft about Shane, nothing ever, but in his dark heart of hearts Rick's not sure he could have done any better with convincing Hershel and _that_ stops his thoughts like a sledgehammer to the face. 

_Shane, brother, I was handling it._

He wipes his mouth with a hand and shoves down the desire to weep for days.

"But it's done, and we're safe, and Sophia can rest now. What's wrong about that?"

Rick sucks in a heavy breath, wet with humidity and looks to the yard again, where Andrea and Shane are deep in discussion about something he's sure he doesn't want to know. Shane looks up, at him, at Carl, and then looks away, dark eyes hooded by his Sheriff's cap. 

_You're as delusional as that guy, Rick._

"Nothing," he whispers, and rubs Carl's back with his hand, and sits next to his son, watching the sky and wondering where this side of Carl has come from -

"You're a good dad."

A sliver of smile passes over Rick's weathered face again, his snap front shirt too warm, sweat pooling in his armpits, the boards under his butt warm and hard. Carl knocks his arm into Rick's, and the hat slides forward over his son's face.

"I love you, Carl," Rick says out of nowhere.

"I know," Carl answers, in that matter of fact voice all children have perfected by the time they're two years old. Rick barks out a laugh and musses the hat on Carl's head, which promptly makes Carl squirm and moan with indignation. "Dad," he whines, but Rick can tell it's not that much of a big deal.

_I would have done the same thing._

His heart freezes in his chest even as Carl gets up and crosses the yard to where Andrea and Shane are still talking, kicking rocks and smiling as he passes the pair, heading for the camp and his mother and the dreaded chores he knows he's got to help with. 

Same body, two different kids inhabiting.

Rick swallows again, throat bobbing with the effort.


End file.
